


Storyteller

by thewordweaves



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewordweaves/pseuds/thewordweaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usopp and his storytelling over the years, from the time of Banchina's death to after the timeskip, focusing on five instances. This expands on some of Usopp's backstory that we never get to see and what his childhood must have looked like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storyteller

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mainly because I love to fill in the gaps that Oda's given us, and really wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of the Strawhats as well. Usopp just has an easier theme to hold onto, and I was the most intrigued by his ordinary past. See, I've always wondered what it is about his village that moves him so when Usopp (who is endlessly sentimental at that) doesn't even bid anyone a farewell but Kaya & The Usopp Pirates, which makes me think that nobody took him in after Banchina's death. I RP Usopp, so I wanted some headcanon to go off of and thus this little fic was born! Hopefully it's a feasible interpretation of events.

**7**

It's been two years since Banchina's death. Usopp's cried a lot over the past two years. He still cries a lot, but not as much, not anymore. Sometimes it occurs to him that maybe he should be guilty for not being sad all the time, because Mama's gone, and _shouldn't_ he be sad all the time? But it's impossible to be sad all the time, especially for Usopp, because he's fascinated by the sea and the rocks and the trees and spiders and rubber bands and all sorts of amazing things out there.

He still misses her awfully, so bad that it makes his gut hurt as bad as it did when he ate those mushrooms, even though his neighbor's cooking is almost as good as his mom's. It's better during the day, because the village makes sure that he's never alone. No one took him into their home, to make him a part of their family, and that's not something that struck him as strange at all until he heard someone talking about. After all, even without his mother his home is still home. And why would he go live with someone else if he's got a home right here?

"Someone should take him in," he hears one of the villagers say, that lady whose stomach is like a pillow and whose hair is like the nest he stole out of one of the trees and whose eyes are sad, just like Mama's when she talked about Dad.

"We'll keep on taking care of him," the man replies, as stick thin as the woman is fat, and a rake nearly as tall as he is resting on his pointy shoulder. "He has all he needs: he's clothed, he's fed, and you're taking care of his schooling, aren't you?"

"He needs a _family_ ," the fat woman says, and Usopp, curled into a ball behind one of the houses, has to swallow past a lump in his throat.

"Maybe Banchina should have thought of that before marrying a pirate," the thin man says. "No one's going to take in a son of a pirate, backwater village or no. Besides, he's such a queer looking child - that nose!"

"Marc!"

So Marc's his name, Usopp thinks. He's only known him as Mr. Vivol, the farmer, but he'll probably get a swat if he calls him Marc.

"Look, I'm not heartless. He's a good enough kid. I'll build a toy for him, all right?" Marc says, and sighs. "If you're so worried, why haven't you taken him in?" And the Marc walks away, leaving the lady to stare at his retreating back with sad eyes. Usopp stumbles out of his hiding place, and the lady looks at him in abject dismay.

"Usopp!" She exclaims, smoothing down her skirt ineffectually, because it's old and badly made and will just wrinkle up again anyway. "How long have you been back there, sweetheart?"

And she looks sad. In fact, Usopp thinks, she looks like she's about to cry, and he doesn't want that at all, and it makes sense that nobody wants to take in a pirate's son he guesses but that's okay because he's _proud_ like Mama was proud. It will make the lady even more sad, to know he was listening, won't it? And he doesn't want that, because the lady always gives him a hug when he comes around and knit him a nice white scarf that he likes to wear around his waist and when she comes close, she smells like flowers and fertilizer and soap. So he puts on his brightest grin - even though he doesn't feel much like grinning, not really - and says carefully, "I was adventuring. I beat up a monster. With five arms, and ten eyeballs and a-a hundred teeth!"

"Did you, now?"

Then the lady smiles, and Usopp continues on with a story he's becoming more and more invested in by the word, and figures that this right here, this is pretty great. Stories, he can do.

 **9**

The school on Syrup Island is a small, beli-a-day affair. There's little more than a few books, a room full of desks and a blackboard. There had been a quiet agreement among the people of the village that it would be good for Usopp, so here he is. Staying still is something of a trial for him - the teacher, though patient, has to constantly remind him to stop that fidgeting and pay attention, won't you? - and he likes that they get breaks to go play tag outside.

They don't learn much at all. They learn simple things, like arithmetic and their times tables and how to read and write and a tiny bit of history as the teacher sees fit. There is no reason to teach them much more than that, after all - Syrup Village is a small place, and most of these kids are going to take on their fathers' businesses and become tradespeople. Skill with their hands is more valued than skills with their minds, but the people seem to think that children should be schooled at least a little bit, and it keeps them out of their parents' hair at least.

He likes it at school. The teacher has a sharp voice, but she's got kind eyes, and he likes playing with the other kids, and he likes knowing math, and he likes reading. He's not great at math, but he's way ahead of the other kids in reading already, probably on account of the fact that after school he likes to go into the bookstore and read all the tales he's able to. When he reads out loud, the teacher says, _Very good, Usopp_ and that practically makes him burst with excitement, even if she scolds him when he starts adding on embellishments.

He doesn't like school today, though, because one of the other kids is yelling. They had a race, and Usopp won, but the other kid (the one with bright orange hair and strong arms, the son of a fisherman) suddenly screams, "He only won 'cause he's got such a _long nose_!"

And Usopp stops, stares. He and the other boys don't mind making fun of each other's appearances, because that's just what boys do, but his nose?

"It's ugly," the other boy says.

Usopp likes his nose. When he looks in the mirror, he can see no trace of his mother there. Where his Mama was pale, with smooth straight hair and soft, gentle eyes, Usopp is dark with kinky hair he can't brush his fingers through and sharp, unblinking eyes. But he's got her nose, and he loves that, loves it because it reminds him of what she looked like. It's not ugly at all. It’s not ugly, and the fact that someone is calling _his_ nose, his mother’s nose ugly arouses something ugly inside of him, and before he knows it he’s a blur of fists and screaming at the other kid to take it back, take it back, his nose is fine.

The other kid screams and fights back, but while he is fueled by defense, Usopp is fueled by anger and he only stops when he feels a hand bury itself in the back of his overalls. It is the teacher, and the other boy is crying. Usopp is crying too, but the teacher doesn’t look like she has patience for his tears, nor does she have patience for the motherless troublemaker in her class.

She listens impatiently to the accounts of the other children, all tinged with more fantasy than truth, and bends down to glare at Usopp, who quails. “That is not acceptable, Usopp - do you hear me?” Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, a small movement that Usopp nevertheless focuses on for the sake of focusing on something. “You’re dismissed for the day. Go on, then.”

So Usopp furiously rubs the tears away from his face and walks away until he’s sure no one else can see him, and then begins to run. He’s good at running, and he likes it. It clears his mind in the way only his storytelling can, but today, his legs do not lead him to the beach as usual. Today, they lead him to the bookshop. He loves the bookshop. It’s always dusty and empty, but the old lady who runs it is kind and always lets him sit in one of those squashy chairs in the corner with any book he likes. Mrs. P, they all called her, even though she doesn’t have a husband or any children to speak of. She’s always hanging around another old lady who comes in and out of town as she pleases, with short hair and tight pants that look awfully silly on someone so old, but Usopp likes her because she always makes sure to give him a taffy she swears is from the sea itself.

Today when Usopp pushes the door open, Mrs. P looks down at him in surprise, and leans over the counter. As always, the scent of incense is heavy in the air and Usopp wrinkles his nose. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school, young man?” She scolds.

Usopp blanches, then declares, “I’m never going to school again.”

“And whyever not? You haven’t more than, oh, two more years of it.”

“Because,” Usopp begins, taking a deep breath, but stops when he sees the look on her face once she recognizes the false bravado that always accompanies a lie. He looks down at his shoes, two sizes too big and has to blink carefully lest he start crying again. “I got into a fight.”

Mrs. P looks taken aback, but she’s so old that nothing really ever fazes her, Usopp thinks, and true to this assessment she questions further, “What over?”

“I won a race, and the guy I won against said I was cheating.”

Mrs. P smiles then, more amused than anything else. “Why, because your shoes took you over the finish line?”

Usopp doesn’t quite realize that he’s doing it, but he’s prodding the tip of his nose with his index finger. “He said it was ‘cause my nose crossed the finishing line first. He called it _ugly_.”

The smile drops off of her face. She grunts.

“So I punched him.”

Mrs. P doesn’t look like she wants to say anything much, Usopp thinks, and her scolding is woefully half-hearted. Usopp would know, having been the target of those scoldings more than once. “You don’t hit people just because they call you ugly.”

“I know,” Usopp mumbles.

She winks. “But good job anyway.”

He brightens a little at that, then looks out at the bookstore. “Can I read?”

She nods and then Usopp scurries through the aisles. He looks carefully at all the sections, even the adult section she always shoos him away from with the pictures of big men and willowy women on the covers. There’s tons of stuff to choose from. There are stories about animals and stories about love and stories about detectives and stories about practically _everything_ Usopp figures, but he always goes back to the adventure section. He’s not even sure why the other sections exist when adventures are way more fun than anything else. Some of the books here are ones he has read so many times that the spine’s become too worn down to sell, but to open them is like opening an old friend. Today, he takes out a new one with a ship on the cover, but it’s about marines so he quickly becomes bored. After a while, he finally finds one that satisfies his interests and settles down to read.

Every now and then, he pipes up to ask Mrs. P what certain words mean until she says sharply, “If I wanted to teach brats like you, I’d become a teacher. If _you_ want to ask people questions like that, then go back to school. I’m busy.”

Mrs. P doesn’t look very busy. In fact, she’s just sitting there, so that makes her a liar, but he stops asking her questions anyway. Somewhere along the line he becomes bored with what the tale has to give him and becomes frustrated by the lack of words he can actually read, so he decides he will lengthen the story himself to his liking. He sits there, mumbling to himself about the adventures of the Great Warrior Gabriel and his adventures in slaying giant spiders and tap dancing jellyfish and diving down into the sea until he finds a city made of seaweed full of gold and terrible monsters with rows and rows of terrible teeth until he notices Mrs. P staring at him.

“What are you doing?” She asks, astonished.

He stares at her with wide eyes, then taps the book. “Reading.”

“Don’t give me that nonsense, young man, that was a personal favorite of mine as a gel. What you’re reading is most definitely not on the page.”

“Well I didn’t understand the words,” Usopp says, an accusatory note in his voice. “Besides, his adventures were getting boring, it was all about _girls_. So I’m talking about the rest of his adventures.”

“With tap dancing jellyfish.”

“Yes.”

“And warriors that fight with paper clips.”

“Yes.”

“And sea kings with forks for teeth.”

“Yes.”

She hoots with laughter, throwing her head back and suddenly looking much younger than the old Mrs. P Usopp knows. “Well then, lad, come here and tell an old lady your improved stories. It has been a very long time indeed since I’ve heard any new stories worth listening to.”

Usopp scrambles to his feet, previous worries forgotten and a grin gleaming on his face and sits by her desk, beside her burning incense in front of a lock of black hair and begins to talk, and she listens, _really_ listens without feeling sorry for him or talking about his nose or doing much of anything except enjoying the nonsense that comes out of his mouth.

 **13**

At thirteen years old, that little room of a school shooed Usopp out, and he is left with an enormous amount of time for a couple of months. He’s not really sure what to do himself, but he’s not the sort to stay at home. That empty house has ceased to be such a place of loneliness over the years - he got used to it, sometimes can’t even remember ever living with anyone else, can hardly recall his mother's face and the way she hummed and the way her hips swayed when she prepared them supper - but he still doesn’t like being inside. He likes being outside, where he can feel the breeze of the sea and look at the water and climb trees and run through forests and do whatever it is his heart desires. Even if he’s not necessarily talking to the rest of the townspeople, he likes to be able to hear their voices.

It’s boring, though, even when he sets up cans on the fence and shoots them down with a slingshot he fashioned all by himself. He shoots them down and imagines.

His Dad will sail back home. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never met each other and that they don’t know each other’s faces, Yasopp will just come up to this very fence, and he’ll just know that he’s his son, because who else on this tiny island would shoot this well? And he’d say to his crew, _that’s my son!_ and he’d probably make an excuse for not coming earlier. He probably got trapped in some sort of cyclone and was off having adventures and whatever but always, always wanted to get back to come see Usopp. And Usopp would turn around, as casual as anything, and say that he’s thinking of setting sail on his own, but if his father really wants to take him along for adventures, who is he to say no? He can find it in his schedule, even if everyone here will cry and cry and cry to see him gone and beg him to stay...

He’s in the midst of one of these daydreams when one of the people from the village taps him on the shoulder and he just about jumps halfway into the air. He’s not used to people approaching him on a whim, not these days. His peers grew up far too fast, and they have little patience for Usopp’s stories anymore. They regard him as an amusing oddity, perhaps, but an oddity nevertheless. He doesn’t have many friends.

And it’s not one of his peers, but someone firmly in the category of ‘adult’. Several of them, in fact, and they’re looking at him in that infuriatingly kind way they always do. “So,” one says, as if it’s not obvious that they’re there for a reason and they just want to chat, “out of school now, are you?”

“Yes,” Usopp says, because there’s not much more to say. Other kids are still attending school at this age, but they’re all wealthy. Usopp is decidedly not, but he doesn’t mind. He likes the idea of money all right, but in practice he doesn’t need much to keep him entertained.

“So it’s about time you start thinking about your options,” another prompts. “Like a job.”

A job? Usopp’s never really considered it before. The days of people coming over to prepare him his meals is long gone, but everyone’s still supplied him with all the food and the clothing he needs to make his way through the world. With the money they made by working, he realizes now.

Usopp doesn’t really want to work, but neither does he want to infringe on the villagers’ kindness. So he nods.

“Just for a few hours a day,” one of the women fuss, “but it’s good to see what’s what. And you’ll get paid.”

Another nod, which elicits a sigh out of the woman, a sigh Usopp has long since learned to identify with frustration with his behaviour for one reason or another. He’s not sure what she’s sighing about, so he looks down in contrition, just in case.

“Go to The Salmon’s Eye tomorrow,” one of the men finally commands, “at noon. You’ll begin by dishwashing.”

And that’s that, easy as anything. For the next few months, Usopp does odd jobs for the various labourers of the village, and he’s a good worker for the most part. He likes keeping busy, and he still has enough time for himself, and it stops him from feeling too lonely. They work him hard there, but they are good and kind and shower him with more attention than he’s accustomed to. It’s not a normal life by any means, not the sort of life he knows everyone else has, but he’s content.

He likes helping out the fisherman the most. He’s a man with thick, hairy forearms and he’s missing an eye, though when Usopp’s tried to inquire why, no one seems to know and the fisherman doesn’t want to say. He’s got this great big peppery beard that nearly swallows up his entire face, which makes him look scary with his tiny eyes and big nose and booming voice full of gristle, but Usopp knows better. His wife is as big as he is with an enormous amount of presence, but Usopp is a little afraid of her. She’s not a very good cook, but she guts fish like a champion. They have no children, which Usopp thinks is a little strange, but he doesn’t ask because when anyone even alludes to it, their eyes grow sad and they go quiet. He doesn’t like that.

One day, he’s looping the lines into knots around their hooks, the movements coming as easily to him as brushing his teeth by now, and the fisherman stands behind him in silence. This isn’t such an odd affair, so Usopp continues his work, feet tapping out a jaunty rhythm on the floorboards below and day dreaming away until the fisherman snaps him out of his reverie. “You’re good at that.”

Usopp is surprised and a little bit proud (okay, a _lot_ proud because it’s not so very often that anyone says that he’s good at anything at all) and grins at him. There’s a story in that, he thinks, no, he _knows_ because there’s a story in absolutely everything. Fishing, fishing, fishing, fishing...

“I learned when I was, when I was eight years old on a fishing boat,” he babbles, “and I was attacked by an entire school of seakings, armed only with wires and hooks, so I braided as fast as I could, and in a matter of seconds, I--”

“Enough!” The fisherman snaps, and Usopp stops, unused to the man being so sharp with him. The man softens again. “Enough with the stories! I’m being _serious_ here, lad. You might have a real future in fishing. It ain’t as glamorous as some of the other things here, but it’s good, honest work. You’ll make a living for yourself, and any lady that’ll have you. You ought to be thinking about that sort of stuff by now”

Usopp gapes at him, lost for words.

“You have good, steady hands. Use them.”

The words come out before Usopp can stop them. “I’m gonna be a pirate.” His mouth goes dry.

There’s something indescribable in the man’s face, something pained and altogether unfamiliar. He pulls back with a sigh that seems to rattle through him. “You ain’t the only one who’s grown up without a dad to check after you,” he says and stands up to leave. “You think on it when you’re done with your foolish dreaming.”

Usopp stares down at his hands, steadily going about their work though he feels like the air’s gone out of them. They are still, even when the rest of him feels like trembling. But where the fisherman sees a craftman’s hands, all Usopp can see are hands good for sniping, good for shooting cans off of a fence, good for impressing a father he’d never known.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop dreaming.

 **16**

Usopp thinks he loves Kaya.

No, not in the way that people usually say love, even if she’s just about the prettiest girl he’s seen in her life, even pale and prostrated by weakness with eyes brimming with tears and a thin, reedy voice that seems to come back to life whenever she laughs. He doesn’t love her like the prince loves the princess in the stories, but he loves her all the same.

Her parents died. That’s how they met after all, and Usopp can’t be happy about that, because he knows that it’s the worst feeling in the world, even if it was a long time ago. But he’s happy that they’ve met all the same, and does that maybe make him a bad person? All the same, he knows how he comforted himself in times of loneliness, and no one seems to be doing that for Kaya. They won’t let her out of her gilded cage, to experience the world and learn to love the village as Usopp did. Instead she is trapped, trapped with her memories and bitter smelling medicines and sorrow. Usopp vaguely remembers his first few nights after Banchina’s death, and how he wanted nothing more than to go play in the forest and only come back when necessary. The pain fades, eventually, and laughter returns.

But they’re not giving Kaya any chance to escape it, so he goes and does it for her. Kaya’s not very good at escaping her own mind. She’s smart, Usopp thinks, much smarter than him, and that means she’s awful at giving her mind a way out. He scrambles over the fence and drops belly down in the grass, the strands tickling his nose. He sees Klahadore leave the house, shopping bags in hand, and snickers quietly to himself before darting across the lawn and scaling the tree as quick as he can. He’s probably the fastest climber in the village, he thinks, which is a good thing because he can see Merry peek out of one of the many windows at the sound. Unfortunately, he is not one of the quietest climbers in the village which is something to work on. He waits for Merry’s distinctive shadow to leave its perch, then happily pronounces, “Open your windows, fair princess, for a grand warrior has come to tell you tales of his adventures!”

She does, raising a finger to her lips in the process, gesturing for him to be quiet. She doesn’t look very good, Usopp notes with a pang of worry. She looks pale and drawn and thin, and Usopp peers into her room to see a plate full of food, untouched. She has these phases sometimes, where it seems that she won’t eat, will hardly drink the healing draughts the worried doctors whip up for her, stares at nothing and listens to nobody. But she’ll listen to Usopp, because he never talks about her illness. He’s a master of avoidance, after all.

Usopp leans on the trunk of the tree and spins his slingshot on a finger.

She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t frown either. She is simply solemn, very solemn, but there is a hint of expectation in those clouded eyes. Usopp looks at her plate of food, and considers today’s story. “Have I ever told you,” he pronounces, “about the Great Captain Usopp’s adventures on the Island of Food?”

That prompts a small smile out of her and she shakes her head out of simple routine. Usopp always asks if he’s ever told her each story, but of course he never tells the same story twice. “How could I have not told you that one yet!” He exclaims. “That was the most delicious of the Great Captain Usopp’s adventures, you see.”

He waits. A good thirty seconds pass without comment.

Finally, Kaya says, “Tell me.”

So he does. He speaks of giant mashed potato mountains with pools of butter at the peaks, and oh, aren’t they just the most luscious, gorgeous things he’s ever seen? They were so creamy and decadent, with a hint of a tang. There’s a pork chop field, and as he stomps across it, pink juices just melt out of it, and it’s so soft that the heels of his boots nearly cut right through it, and it’s just about the tastiest thing ever. The broccoli forest is a tender, steaming affair, and when he drags his finger across it and licks it, he can taste the salt.

And so on and so forth. He’s not paying much attention to the battles this time around, which are usually his favorite bits. Of course there’s an army of eight thousand to fight against using all sorts of crazy weapons, and of course there are people to be saved and thanks to be given, but he gives special attention to the details of the foods.

Eventually, Kaya glances over at her untouched plate of food, and looks at Usopp. “The Great Captain Usopp is trying to make me eat,” she murmurs.

“The Great Captain Usopp never tries!” He declares loftily. “He only _does_. You wouldn’t prove him wrong, would you?” He leans forwards, elbows on his knees and grins at her.

She finally laughs and claps her hands. “Of course not!”

And then she eats. She doesn’t finish it, nor does she eat as much as Usopp should like (though happily, she gives him some which he enjoys because he’s not exactly the best cook in the world) but she eats nevertheless. He opens his mouth, about to launch into a different tale when she gasps, looks at the door, and snaps the window shut. Which means that butler came back. Damn, Usopp thinks to himself,and scuttles back down the tree, back over that fence and back into town.

Kaya’s the only person who’s not a kid that’ll listen to his stories these days, now that old Mrs. P’s funeral has come and gone, may her soul rest in peace. He knows that Kaya thinks that he’s doing her a kindness by coming these days, to let her escape in fantasy away from the reality of doctors and draughts and death, but he doesn’t think she realizes that she’s saving him too.

While Kaya’s grounded in reality, Usopp most decidedly is not. Sometimes he thinks that Kaya’s the realest thing he’s got.

 **17**

And then suddenly being a pirate isn’t a foolish dream that the villagers shake their head at, but a reality. If Usopp was prone to more introspection, perhaps he would wonder why he chose to go off without a word a little more, but he’s not, so instead he just sails and enjoys it. Enjoys being on a vessel for the first time, enjoys being part of a crew, wonders at how the hell this even happened because he would never, never have set out on his own. He wishes he could believe otherwise, but he knows himself too well to have ever believed that he would get the nerve to do what Luffy did. To do what Luffy _does_. He wonders if anyone in the village misses him, but he doesn’t think they will. Not much, anyway.

One day, not long after they leave Cocoyashi, he ambles down to the galley when he catches Sanji staring around the kitchen, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and hands stuffed in his pockets. A smile plays around his face and Usopp recognizes that expression on his face: disbelief. Usopp quietly sits down, not wanting to ruin the moment at first, because seeing Sanji look happy like this, almost young, is something to be treasured. A part of him is incredulous at that smile, because this is Sanji, shit-talking, hard-hitting, grimacing, glowering, _cool_ Sanji who he still finds a little bit scary.

Well, that’s what Luffy does to people, Usopp concludes. “Can’t believe you’re actually here, huh?” He says, a little grin on his face.

Sanji whistles low and sweet under his breath, and nods. “Something like that.”

“I don’t think any of us can,” Usopp continues happily, emptying a few things out of his bag and busying himself with organizing them the best he can. “Well, maybe Zoro can, I’m not sure when or why he joined up.”

Sanji looks like he’s about to respond - Usopp can guess with what, probably that the _shitty marimo got lost_ or something - but stops when Usopp pauses when he takes the sketchbook out of his bag and stares at it in remembrance, knowing that there are drawings of Kaya and the Usopp Pirates within.

He smiles at the memory. “I still can’t believe I’m here. But they wouldn’t have gotten the ship if not for me!”

“Oh yeah?” Sanji says, sliding to sit down across from him, large hands folded on top of the tiny table. “How did you get it?”

Usopp takes a deep breath, ready to craft a story out of truth, as he always does, but then he sees the way Sanji looks at him. Already, the cook knows how to tell when Usopp’s preparing to tell another tall tale, and already some of the focus has gone out of his eyes, as if he’s lost interest. It reminds Usopp of the way the fisherman looked at him when he talked about becoming a pirate.

Well, now he is a pirate. Maybe he can tell the truth once in a while. So instead of crafting a story, he just says, “A girl from my home town gave Merry to us.”

Sanji snaps his head to look at him carefully again, curiosity piqued again. “A girl?” Of course that gets his attention, Usopp thinks, and he immediately knows what Sanji is thinking, looking at him, scrawny limbs akimbo, hair a mess behind him and chest so skinny as to be concave, clad in grubby overalls and oversized boots.

“Not like that,” he says, a flush on his face.

“All right,” Sanji says, a bit more comfortable now that the tale is deeply settled into reality, and waits for Usopp to continue. Doesn’t urge him on, doesn’t warn him not to lie, just listens and looks at him like... well, maybe not an equal, because Usopp will never be his equal, but like a crewmate. And he likes that, he likes it a lot.

So he tells him. He doesn’t linger much on the topic of Kuro because he’s still embarassed about not being able to do more, but he delights in telling him about Kaya and about the village, and about everything he’s almost forgotten about.

In the middle of talking about one particularly good dish he had at the Salmon’s Eye (and what a terrible name that is, eh Sanji, it’s so gross but it has great food and do you think you could make that?), Usopp stops. He thinks that maybe this is the longest he’s gone on about a story where everything’s actually true. He puts up his hands and laughs. “Ah, I must be boring you.”

Because it _is_ boring. There’s no battles or heroes to speak of, just him and a bunch of ordinary villagers who are lovely and infuriating in their own ways. But Sanji just grins and butts out his cigarette. “Nah,” he says. “Sounds like you really loved that place.”

Sanji isn’t really scary at all, Usopp thinks, at least when he’s not swearing his head off at Zoro. He nods, somehow relieved, and says, “Yeah, I do.”

 **19**

Saobody Archipelago. Usopp’s finally on his way there, having hitched a ride with another pirate crew who had gotten stranded there to the next island over. They didn’t have the mastery over the plants that Usopp and Heracles did, and after the two of them coaxed the vines from off of them and the pirates noted that Usopp was an excellent sharpshooter, they agreed to take them along.

They’re a nice enough bunch, but nothing like the crew that Usopp is looking forward to seeing. They enjoy telling the two newcomers tales of their adventures, and they like to sing and steal and drink and all those other things that pirates do. Normally Usopp would be telling them tales too, but what can he say? No one can know that the Strawhats are about to reconvene, not if they want to stay together this time, so he makes up a stupid story that they buy because they don’t really care.

But seeing this crew together makes him _really_ miss his own. One night, he sits cross legged on the unfamiliar deck and Heracles lumbers over to join him. The night is cold, so cold that he can see his breath misting over in the air, but he decides he doesn’t mind it. He’s missed feeling a ship beneath him, and it’s an oddly soothing experience.

“You are quite quiet this fine evening, Usopp’n!” Heracles booms, though truly, the man knows no other way of speaking. Volume control isn’t his strong point.

“Ah, am I?” Usopp scratches the patch of hair on his chin (hair! On his chin! He’s still delighted to know that he is, in fact, capable of growing facial hair) and shrugs. “Sorry, I guess I’ve just been distracted.”

“It is no wonder!” Heracles says (declares, really) and stares up at the stars, evidently enjoying being off the island as well. “You are to begin a new voyage’n!”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to see them again.”

Heracles hums. “You have missed them.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them, Usopp’n?”

He looks around on the stranded deck, empty aside from the watchman who has fallen fast asleep. Why not? What’s the harm? He digs into his memory for a story, free for the embellishing, but realizes that they have been through enough for him not to need to tell any lies. Why tell a lie when they have seen giants, visited a kingdom of sand, flew into the sky, fought against zombies? Nothing he can possibly make up can match any of that. He couldn’t make up a rubber captain, just as he couldn’t make up a skeletal musician.

He leans against the banisters and stretches his limbs out. “Okay,” he says.

And he does.


End file.
